As the Arrow Flies
by SlightlyBlackSheep
Summary: When the nations we know today fell, the gods did not fall alongside them. They continued to sire half bloods, children torn between two worlds. In the land of coal mines and poverty live the Everdeens, two half bloods struggling to survive in the merciless world they were born into. They have survived this year's reaping, but will they survive the dangers of their heritage?
1. Chapter 1

I have never liked History class. The Capitol doesn't trust us with many of the details, so the teacher is always presenting the same vague storyline. Sometimes we'll delve into the specifics of the economy or some treaty or conflict, but for the most part each year has the same curriculum. The past is not boring, my father made that clear when he was alive, but History class certainly is. Our teacher, Mr. Raselmunde, has the unique ability to make any topic dull.

I slump down in my seat, sinking down several inches. My fingers drum restlessly against the old wooden desk. It's the last class of the day. When the final bell rings I'll be able to go back home, maybe escape into the woods for a few hours. I haven't gotten the opportunity to do so for a few days. The 73rd Hunger Games just started the other day, and the security in Twelve has been ramped up quite a bit. Most of the Peacekeepers stay in the town, but I am must be wary of the occasional Peacekeeper who wanders into the Meadow.

"Katniss!" someone whispers.

I start. "Uh?" It's Heamon Beecher, who sits directly behind me. He lives in the community home, and I know nearly nothing about him, but his black curly hair and gray eyes say that his family was from the Seam. Several times over the last year I have often caught him looking at me when he had no reason to, but his gaze was never one of desire, so I have no fear of him chasing after me.

I realize Heamon is saying something. "Sorry," I interrupt. "I missed the first bit."

"Miss Everdeen," the teacher says sharply, "only one person in this room should be talking right now, that that person is me."

"Sorry," I mutter, slumping down in my chair again.

Behind me, Heamon whispers, "I was just saying to pay attention. This stuff is actually new. Well, we haven't heard about for a while. Should be interesting."

I raise my eyebrows but tune in to the lesson. Mr. Raselmunde is lining up several books at the base of the chalkboard at the front of the room. I sit in the third row, so I have to squint to read the titles: _The Book of the Dead. The Qur'an. The Bible. The Panemian Compilation of Greek Myths._ There are several more, but at that point I have had enough. I lean back and wait as the teacher lists the selected books.

"Now," Mr. Raselmunde says, his words agonizingly slow, "can anyone tell me what these books up here are?" After a few seconds of silence, the boy three seats to my left raises his hand. "Yes, Peeta?" Mr. Raselmunde says.

"They're storybooks," Peeta answers. His blue eyes dart to the notebook open in front of him and back to the teacher, who gestures for him to continue. "Before Panem, people made up all these crazy stories to explain how the world was created and how everything happens. Even when scientists found out why everything really happened, it wasn't until Panem that they finally accepted it."

I resist the urge to raise my hand and tell them how my father told me religion was eradicated, how the Capitol burned down all the places of worship and threatened to kill all who were found practicing any religion. The government didn't like the idea of anything more powerful than it, my father had said. But I know to keep my mouth shut.

Mr. Raselmunde nods in approval at Peeta's words. "Very good, young man, very good. Here I have assembled a few of the religious texts of the old religions. Not all of them, not by a long shot, but some of the better known ones. We will be discussing each of these readings in full. Which should we start with? Any requests?"

There is a rustle of movement behind me. "Let's start with the Greek stories, sir," Heamon says.

Mr. Raselmunde frowns disapprovingly at him. "You do not speak in this classroom without my permission. Is that understood, Mr. Beecher?"

"Yes, sir," Heamon mumbles. "But really, can we start with those? Some of the others are a bit dull. Only one god and all of that."

The teacher sighs. "Yes, I suppose so." He lifts the thick volume from the base of the chalkboard and flips to one of the first pages. "We'll start by reading one of the most important myths. Now, I'm losing my voice, and we only have one copy of this, so we'll be passing this around the room. When it gets to you, read a paragraph or so and pass it on. This should take the rest of the period. We'll discuss it in full tomorrow." He hands the book to the student in the far corner of the room. "You start."

As they read, my mind drifts off to the woods. As the minutes tick past, I am not sitting in a stuffy classroom but walking through the woods, bow in hand, Gale at my side. He makes some cynical remark about the latest Hunger Games, and we laugh together.

"Miss Everdeen?" Mr. Raselmunde's annoyed voice brings me back to reality. "This lesson is being taught for your benefit, and I would _appreciate_ it if you would pay attention. It's your turn to read. We're waiting." He points to the book, which someone has placed on my desk.

"Um..." I stare down at the tiny words on the page below me.

"And so Rhea," Mr. Raselmunde prompts.

My face reddens slightly as I search for the words. "And...and so Rhea birth...birthed her sixth child, Zeus. The infant was whisked away and raised by a rock swaddled...I mean, nymphs. He was raised by nymphs. He was nursed by the goat Amaltheia. When Kronos asked for Rhea's child, she instead gave him a rock swaddled in an infant's clothing. Kronos...swallowed it?" I look up from the book. "_What?_" He didn't see that it was a rock? And he was able to swallow it? He didn't notice it was just a bit harder than a baby?_  
><em>

Mr. Raselmunde just sighs again. "I think that's quite enough, Miss Everdeen. Please pass the book to Mr. Mimura."

I hand the book over to the boy at my left. Not too long ago, a different boy occupied the seat: Evan Palian, a kind boy with light blonde hair and a kind smile. I have never had many friends, but Evan was one of the few people who might have deserved that title. We weren't exactly close, but we would often sit together at lunch. Him, me, and Madge. I didn't really click with him the way I did with Madge, but we were almost friends.

And then, on the day of the reaping just over two years ago, not long after we turned thirteen, he disappeared. The Peacekeepers pronounced him dead, but they were never able to produce his body. I assume he escaped into the woods. Perhaps he even went through the gap in the fence that I frequent; we didn't live too far apart.

And perhaps he is dead now. Life in the woods is not easy, and as far as I know he was not among District Twelve's few hunters. But I hope that somehow he is still alive. He was a good person, and he deserved to live.

The final bell rings. I stuff my notebook into my bag and slip the fraying straps over my shoulders. I weave between my taller classmates and through the crowd meandering down the hallway. I find my way to Prim's classroom at the far end of the hallway.

My eleven-year-old sister is sitting at the back of her room, her small hands fumbling to close her satchel. She sees me and smiles.

Prim crosses the room, and I embrace her. "I missed you," I say affectionately. "You have no idea how lucky you are to have a teacher like her." I nod towards the tall figure cleaning up her desk at the front of the classroom. It has been four years since I was in her class, but I still remember her as my favorite teacher. "I hope for your sake you never get Mr. Raselmunde." I poke her in the belly, and she giggles.

Behind me, someone clears their throat. I turn to see the aforementioned man standing in the doorway. I swallow and mutter an apology, then duck past him, Prim close behind me. We walk down the hall, anxious to distance ourselves from my teacher.

Prim stiffens at my side, and I turn. She wears a queasy expression. "Let's get out of here," she whispers. "I - I feel strange. Like something's going to happen."

And I do, too. My heart races, and there is a strange tingling sensation in my chest. Suddenly the colorful hallway, once familiar and comforting, seems foreboding and dangerous. Prim is right. We need to get out of here.

I grab Prim's hand and pull her down the hallway.

* * *

><p><strong>I'll be co-writing this with my friend SkyeBird128. I hope you liked it. Please tell me what you thought! <strong>

**By the way, I do not mean to offend anyone with the part about religion. These are not my beliefs about religion, merely how I believe the Capitol would have people think. **


	2. Chapter 2

I grab Prim's wrist as we exit the school building. She's not a very fast runner, and I know we need to put as much distance between ourselves and the school building as we can. At least, that is what I thought. The sense of foreboding does not lessen when we leave the building. Whatever the danger is, it is not confined to the classrooms and gray halls. It is all around us.

"Where are we going, Katniss?" Prim asks, her voice shaky and nervous.

"I don't know," I answer. My mind is moving at a million miles per hour. Where _can_ we go? We cannot go home, that is obvious. However much I want to see Mother, or even Gale, they will know where to find us if we go there.

A squawking sound fills the air. I look up. The trees are covered in strange looking birds that I cannot recall seeing before in my life. They bear a slight resemblance to tracker jackers - not that I have ever gotten close enough to observe the mutts in detail.

"What are those?" Prim's voice is panicked, and I cannot blame her. I am almost shaking too hard to shrug.

A bird hops from a branch mere feet from out heads. It swoops down past us, so close that its wing nearly brushes my cheek. I jerk out of the way, my heart pounding. What _are_ these things? Has the Capitol found out that I frequently leave the district to hunt? Have they sent these new mutts to kill us? Not just me, but Primrose as well?

My instincts tell me no. But then why do I feel like something is watching me? Why have these birds activated my fight or flight instincts?

Behind us, a twig snaps. I turn, my hands going to my shoulder for the bow that is not there, but there is no one in sight. I lower my shaking hands and motion for Prim to follow me down the path.

And then the birds attack.

They swarm down from the trees like one huge creature. Beside me, Prim screams and ducks. A hard metallic beak digs into the bare skin on my left forearm. I cry out and roll down the sleeves of my father's leather jacket. My knees almost buckle, but I force them to straighten. I grab for Prim's hand and pull her to her feet. I drag her down the path, only one thought in my mind: I have to get to my bow.

I sprint through the meadow, batting away birds with my fist as they dive upon us. They fall away, but for every one I knock down two more take its place.

I pull Prim under the fence. She yelps, but I cannot stop. If I do, we will die. They will tear us to pieces. I run through the woods, my fingers latched around the eleven-year-old's wrist. Finally I reach a tall, thick tree at the edge of a narrow creek. I pull my bow and quiver from a nook in its side and notch an arrow.

There are too many of them, far too many to even count. A bird dives at my unprotected hand. I shoot it down, but before I can notch a second arrow another bird drills into the skin between my thumb and pointer finger. I cry out, struggling to ready an arrow. The string bites into the wound, and blood drips onto it. I let loose another arrow, and another, but I know it is hopeless. I am a fighter, an experienced archer, but there is only so much I can do in the face of a swarm of metal demon birds.

"Katniss," Prim sobs from behind me. Her voice is wracked with pain, and I know the birds have not spared her.

"Don't worry," I tell her. "It's going to be fine." I have never been a very good liar.

A bird crashes into my hand, knocking the bow to the ground. I fall backwards, defenseless. This is it. I will die fifteen short years into my life. Despair and fear swirl in my heart, and then a strange calm settles inside me.

And then a horrible sound cuts through the air, and the calm is shattered. The bird drilling into my cheek disappears with a flutter and a screech. My bleeding hands go to my ears in a desperate attempt to silence the terrible noise. The birds escape into the air, screeching, but I have no such escape.

The sound stops. There are a few long seconds of silence, and then I hear someone approach me.

"Katniss? Katniss!"

I force my eyes open. Kneeling over me is a vaguely familiar looking boy with curly black hair. The image swims in front of my eyes. I try to focus, but pain stabs my temple and I wince.

A warm, sweet liquid trickles into my mouth. It tastes like the honeysuckle tea my father used to make for me when I was sick. Tears come to my eyes. The pain disappears and my vision clears.

I stare at the boy above me. "_Heamon_? What - what - you - "

My classmate shrugs. "I saw you running into the woods. You had a hoard of Stymphalian Birds after you. I had to follow. Couldn't very well let you leave without me."

"Stymph...what?"

"I'll explain everything later," Heamon promises. "Right now, we have to fix up your sister. She got cut up pretty badly."

I sit up and turn to the form beside me. Prim had nothing to defend herself with, and the birds took advantage of this. She is covered with red bleeding wounds. Heamon opens a metal flask and pours a yellowish liquid into her mouth. Prim coughs, her eyes fluttering open. I stare in wonder as her cuts begin to fade, her skin stitching itself back together.

"What's that stuff?" I ask.

"Nectar. Drink of the gods. Good for wounds. In small doses, that is. Drink too much and you'll go up in flames."

"The gods?" I repeat. "Like...like in the storybooks? You do know those are fiction, right?"

"Have an open mind, Katniss," Heamon says. "Most of the storybooks - the Bible, the Torah, all of those - well, I don't know if they're real or not. Could be. But I'm not talking about those. I'm talking about the Greek gods."

"Like Zeus," I say, remembering the stories my father used to tell me more than the reading from History class. "He was the main god, right?"

"Yeah. They're all real, Katniss. They're all out there." Heamon gestures out at the lush green forest. I try to process this while he feeds Prim more nectar. After a few seconds, she coughs and opens her eyes.

Prim stares me for a moment, her eyes wide with surprise and lingering traces of fear. After a moment her eyes shift over to Heamon. Then she stares uncomprehendingly at our surroundings. "Birds," she murmurs. "There were birds. Lots of them." Her gaze drops to her arms. She seems surprised when they bear no scars.

"Stymphalian Birds," Heamon confirms. "Nasty little monsters. The Capitol modeled Tracker Jackers after them, you know. It was Snow's idea. He's a son of Hades, the oldest mortal half-blood in history. They say he has a special sword that sends anything it touches straight to the Underworld. That's how he's survived so long."

His words swirl around in my mind. Stymphalian Birds. Monsters. Half-blood. The Underworld. Normally I would conclude that he has a layer too much coal dust on his brain, but apart from these claims he seems completely sane.

"Why were they attacking us?" I ask. "Did the Capitol send them after us?"

Heamon laughs. "No. Well, I highly doubt it. No, they were targeting you because of your heritage. You and Prim...you're half-bloods."

Prim frowns. "Half-bloods? You mean, half Merchant and half Seam?"

Heamon shakes his head. "No, half-blood as in half human, half god."

I stare at him. "You're saying we're half god? Trust me, Heamon, both of our parents are one hundred percent human."

"Were," Prim corrects, her voice soft.

"Your father," Heamon agrees. "Your mother, she's human. But your father...he's not dead, Katniss. He's very much alive. Has been for several millennia now. He's a god, Katniss."

I stare at him. Does he honestly expect me to believe that my late father was - _is_ - some god worshiped by a primitive society a couple thousand years ago? A character straight out of a storybook?

Heamon sees my skepticism. "You don't believe me," he states. "It's a lot to take in, I know. But trust me, the gods of Olympus are very real. And sometimes they come to Earth and have kids with mortals. They'll find a partner, stay with her for a little while, have a kid. Sometimes two. And then they leave."

"Father died...has been gone for only four years," Prim says. "I was seven. Katniss was eleven."

"Sometimes they stay for longer," Heamon explains. "After a few years, though, Zeus will notice. And he won't be happy. It means he loved you, though. Usually the gods don't stay for more than a few months, a year or two at most. It does explain the arrows, though," he says, nodding at the weapons. "Celestial bronze. Mined on Mount Olympus. The only...one of the only metals that kills monsters."

"Who was Father, then?" I challenge.

Heamon shrugs helplessly. "I don't know which. It's hard to say, coming from District Twelve. Some gods have preferences for some districts. Demeter likes Nine and Eleven, Poseidon likes Four, Hephaestus likes Three and Six and even has some kids from Two, though that's mainly Ares's territory. But Twelve? None of the gods really likes it too much. No offense," he adds quickly.

"None taken," Prim grants with a smile. "Katniss and I, we didn't properly thank you for saving us. If you hadn't dropped in, we wouldn't have made it."

"Our bones would've," I mutter under my breath. How has she so immediately accepted Heamon's tale?

Heamon laughs. "That's probably true. I've always had a way with reed pipes. Most satyrs have them, but I - "

"Satyrs?" I interrupt.

"Ah...yeah." Heamon steps back and kicks off his shoes, revealing a pair of cloven hooves. I stare, my lips parting. What_is_ he? What creature has a goat's hooves and a human's head and arms? "A satyr," Heamon explains, a small grin crossing his face. "Human-goat hybrid. It's our job to find half-bloods in the districts and bring them to Camp Half-Blood. It's the only safe place there is for demigods. When you turn eighteen, you can forge a life in New Greece. It's a small city-state-thing connected to the camp. Mostly made of nymphs and half-bloods and satyrs, some mortals. I was deployed to Twelve a while ago. Been here for about a year now."

"A year?" I stare at my classmate-turned-goat. Heamon has been in District Twelve for as long as I can remember. I have memories of playing with him and Evan back when we were seven or so.

Heamon sees my expression and nods. "Yeah. A year. It's the Mist. It can alter appearance, memory, pretty much anything in a mortal's brain. It even affects half-bloods to an extent."

I close my eyes and lean back against the tree. "Gods. Satyrs. Mist. Got it. Now what? You said you're going to take us to some camp place?"

"You can't stay here," Heamon says, putting his shoes back on. "Now that you know who you are - _what_ you are - that would be suicide. The monsters would find you twice as quickly, and you can't very well bring those arrows into the district. We have no choice, Katniss. We have to leave."

To my surprise, Prim speaks up. "He's right, Katniss." I stare at the eleven-year-old. She has always been the one to talk me out of doing such things. And now she wants us to leave the district, to leave Mother, to a place we know nothing about.

But then I think about what Heamon said. If we stay, our lives will be in jeopardy. And what is there for us in District Twelve? A lifetime of reaping slips and coal dust, of starvation and misery?

I take a deep breath and meat Heamon's eyes. "All right," I say finally. "We'll go."

**Please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

It has been just over an hour since Heamon rescued us from the birds. He has been leading us nowhere in particular, but scouring the woods for something. We are still within a mile of District Twelve. Soon it will be dark, and I don't want to spend the night near the district. Hovercrafts often pass overhead, and the risk is too great that they will see us. I tried telling Heamon this, but he told me not to worry.

"What are you looking for?" I ask him eventually.

"Half-Blood Creek," Heamon answers. "It leads straight to Camp Half-Blood. It winds through the northern districts - Twelve, Thirteen, Seven, One, Eight, Six, Three. It's never more than a mile or two from the districts, but I can't seem to find it."

"Long creek," Prim comments.

I stare at the satyr. "You're looking for the creek, but you didn't bother to mention it?" Heamon gives me a nervous smile and opts not to respond. I shake my head in exasperation and say, "There's a creek this way. It's the only one around here, so I figure it's yours."

I lead Heamon and Prim through the thick foliage.

"So," Prim says to break the silence. "Half-Blood Creek. I've never heard of it."

"You wouldn't have," Heamon says. "The naiads keep it hidden. The Capitol doesn't know it exists. A good thing, too - if they did they'd arrest everyone following it for trespassing on Capitol territory. But this isn't Capitol territory. This is_our_ territory." He smiles.

I found the creek the June after Father's disappearance. I tried to show it to Gale a few times, but I could never seem to find it when I was with him. Perhaps the naiads were hiding it from him, just as they hide it from the Capitol. The thought makes me sad. We were once as close as brother and sister, but now our worlds are drifting apart.

After another few minutes of walking, I am able to make out the sound of running water. My pulse quickens. We're almost there.

Finally, the foliage begins to let up. I push a low evergreen branch aside to reveal a long, winding creek about two meters wide. I kneel and dip my fingers in the running water, a smile crossing my face.

Behind me, Heamon lets out a relieved sigh. "Here we are," he says. "I was afraid we'd never find it. That would really be a fail on my part - successfully getting two half-bloods out of their district without any casualties but rotting in the wilderness because I couldn't find the creek." He grins. "So, now we just follow it to camp."

"Sounds simple," I mutter.

Heamon turns to face me, his dark eyes serious. "There are creatures in these woods, Katniss. You of all people should know that. But there are beasts here that even you could not imagine. Perhaps not even after the Stymphalian Birds. You can never be too careful. We're still a long ways from safety. The trip should take about two days, maybe three, but there'll be obstacles. There always are."

I shift uncomfortably, my confidence slipping down several more notches. If these 'obstacles' are anything like the demon birds from this afternoon, we have no chance of making it to any camp. I nearly died, and I was armed with my bow.

"It was their numbers that was the problem," Heamon says, glancing over at me. "People like to say that numbers aren't everything, but...well, they can mean the difference between life and death. We...hopefully...won't meet any more swarms."

I stare at him. "How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"I don't know. It's like you're picking up on my thoughts or something, but that's ridiculous." Only then do I realize how silly my words are. Before this afternoon, I would never have believed that the Greek gods are real, or satyrs, or that creatures like those birds exist in the woods of District Twelve.

"Oh, that." A pink tinge appears on Heamon's cheeks. "Satyrs can sense emotions. I didn't mention that?"

I stare at him. "No. No, you didn't." I duck my head, kicking the ground uncomfortably. My safety in Twelve depended partially on the fact that people _couldn't_ see what I was thinking. They couldn't look at me and know that I'd been hunting in the woods, or that I was terrified Mother would fall apart completely.

Heamon opens his mouth as if about to say something, then shuts it again. An awkward silence descends, the only noise the soft flowing of the water.

And then I see something flickering in the corner of my vision. I turn away from the satyr. At the bottom of the creek a deep green substance is billowing out from a crevice in the rocks. A strange mixture of awe and trepidation fills me as it swirls to the surface, condensing into a humanoid figure with long sea green hair and grayish skin.

"A naiad," Prim whispers, her voice awed. Her eyes flicker up to Heamon, then back to the nymph. She stretches out her hand, tentatively touching the surface of the water barely a foot from its head. "Hello," she says quietly. "I'm Prim."

The naiad rises, its head breaking the surface of the water, and I see that she is female. She regards Prim with bright, intelligent eyes. "Prim," she repeats, nodding in greeting. She raises her arm from the water, touching Prim's extended fingers. My sister smiles, and happiness flickers briefly over the nymph's face.

I glance up at Heamon. "This is a naiad?"

Maybe it is something in my voice, or maybe I merely look volatile. Whatever the reason, the nymph casts me a distasteful look, pulling away from Prim's hand.

"Half-bloods," she sniffs. "So insensitive. Though I must compliment your perceptiveness. At least you didn't take me for a dryad." Her eyes slide to the forest behind me, then back to my face. She lifts her arm from the water again, but this time it is not to pet Prim's hand. She points downstream. "The camp is that way. Try not to contaminate the river." Her voice is hard and sarcastic.

The naiad sinks back into the water and I straighten. I follow Heamon and Prim down the creek, still considerably miffed by the nymph's less than warm attitude towards me. I never did anything to _her_. I've only gone fishing a couple of times since Father's death, or rather, disappearance, and even if I had, well, there's a whole district where that came from.

We walk for another hour, covering three, maybe four miles. We started off at a decent pace, but Prim soon began to slow. Recognizing that a three day long trip could take a week at the pace she was going, I eventually suggested she walk in the river to avoid the uneven roots and rocks of the bank, knowing that the naiad had taken a liking to her, but she refused.

Prim began to match our speed again, but I could see she was straining herself. Feeling profoundly guilty about making the eleven-year-old tire herself to just to keep up to us, I offered to let her ride on my back, but she refused that, too, saying that it wouldn't help anyone if I was tired, too.

Finally, when the sun is lighting the sky brilliant shades of pinks and oranges, Heamon stops. He steps away from the creek, scanning the nearby trees for something. Though I have gone farther in my own exploits, this is unfamiliar territory, so I doubt I can be of much assistance to the satyr, but still I ask.

"What're you looking for?" I ask.

He doesn't answer, but walks towards a thick cluster of trees. He grips the corner of what looks like a curtain of leaves and pulls it to the side. He peers past it, then turns back, grinning. "Here it is - come on in."

I approach him, Prim at my side. He pulls back the leaves again, revealing a small enclosure maybe five by eight feet and six or so feet tall.

And then I see the supplies. Weapon line the far side of the wall, everything from huge swords to thin bronze arrows that match mine. Beside them are backpacks, baggies of ambrosia, canteens of nectar, everything a half-blood on the run could possibly want.

I stare at Heamon, my eyes wide. "What _is_ this place?"

"Half-blood hideout," the satyr answers. "By the half-bloods, for the half-bloods. Excellently hidden - the dryads get the credit for that. And technically they also put a lot of the stuff into the hideouts. We often give them to the dryads at camp, and they transport them to various hideouts. Don't ask me how they do it, but they do. Marvelous nymphs, dryads." He smiles dreamily.

I clear my throat. "So. Are we staying here for the night, or..."

"There isn't much room," Prim puts forth uncertainly. "Staying in here might not be the best idea."

"Your scent will be masked more in here," Heamon says. "It won't be hidden - monsters can see through the Mist - well, smell, in this case - but we'll be better protected than out there." He glances at us, then continues. "Better snag some of those arrows, Katniss. Yours won't last forever. And Prim..."

My sister tenses visibly. "I have to take a weapon?" She sounds horrified. "Heamon, I'm more of a healer. I tend to injuries, not inflict them. I can't - "

"You'll have to," he says. "I'm sorry, Prim, but you'll need it. A spear, probably not. A sword...no, definitely not. Has Katniss ever shown you how to shoot with her bow?"

"She...she's tried once or twice, yes. I could never do it."

Heamon gazes at the pile of weapons, tapping his fingers on his knee. After a moment, he bends down and picks up a knife with a wood handle and a bronze blade. It is particularly small, and Prim seems to relax when she sees it. She is still reluctant to take the weapon from him, and when she does she holds it nervously in her hands.

Heamon hands us each an apple and a chunk of bread. I am about to bite into the apple when he holds up a hand.

"Wait," he says. "There's something...I mean, at camp...it's a tradition...well, more than that...actually, we can't really do that here...so..." He stutters, turning red. "Um. Never mind."

I give him a strange look, then turn back to my meal.

My mind keeps replaying one word from earlier today like a broken record: _'obstacles'_. And once again, fear begins to settle inside me.

We are not safe. We have never been safe, but tonight the odds are higher than every before that I might be dead by morning.

I curl up on the ground, trying my best to ignore this fact and fall asleep.

* * *

><p><strong>Please review! It would make my day. <strong>


	4. Chapter 4

_A boy maybe sixteen or seventeen years of age is running through the woods, slapping low hanging branches out of the way and leaping over bushes. In his hand is a long bronze sword that glints in the moonlight. An inhuman yell echoes from not far behind him. _

_My view zooms out, revealing a huge one-eyed creature lumbering through the woods only tens of meters behind him. A Cyclops. It must weigh at least eight hundred pounds, and clutched in its meaty fist is a gnarly club spotted with wicked thorns. I scream for the boy to run faster, for the odds will be stacked against him should the Cyclops reach him, but in the dream my voice does not work. _

_The boy crashes through a line of bushes. Before him a stream cuts through the foliage. His foot catches on a root and he tumbles face first into the water. _

_He scrambles to his feet immediately, but the fall has given the Cyclops the time it needed to catch up. The boy stumbles backwards just as the huge monster charges through the bushes. _

"Katniss!"

I jerk awake, terrified. I relax when I realize I'm not under attack by a Cyclops, that I'm still with Heamon and Prim in the little shelter.

Prim kneels over me, her hand on my shoulder, the tip of her blonde braid tickling my cheek. "We're heading out in fifteen minutes, Katniss," she says. "Get up, Heamon's fixing some breakfast."

I sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "I had the strangest dream..."

"You'll probably be getting some pretty strange dreams from now until you die," Heamon says from across the hideout. "It's a half-blood thing. Dreams...well, in the godly world, they're more than just dreams. They're visions. They're not something to ignore. What was your dream?"

"A boy," I say. "He was being chased by some monster. A Cyclops, I think. It caught up to him, and then _Prim_ woke me up." I cast the eleven-year-old a meaningful look. She apologizes profusely, but I wave her off. Honestly, I am glad she awoke me. I did not want to watch that boy get pummeled by the Cyclops. Sword or no sword, the odds were not in his favor. _  
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Heamon studies my face, his eyebrows knit into a frown. "Did you recognize him?"

"No."

Heamon exhales through his nose, sinking his teeth into a crumpled tin can. I stare at him, wondering how he can possible ingest such a material so nonchalantly. After a minute a realize he is staring back at me, a small grin on his face.

"What?" I ask defensively.

"Nothing," Heamon says, forcing his face into a neutral expression. "Tin is a very good source of protein, actually. I've never been able to understand your species' strange preferences for food. Anyways, as I was saying...what was I saying?" He looks over at Prim, frowning slightly.

Prim smiles at the satyr, her eyes teasing. She looks more at home than I can ever remember seeing her, and I tell myself that leaving the district might not have been such a bad idea after all.

"You were saying that we should leave," Prim says. "And I thought Katniss had a short attention span."

Heamon and I both roll our eyes, the satyr grumbling something under his breath. Without another word we continue packing our bags. My backpack fills quickly, and I realize there will be no space for our new supplies. I hesitate for a moment before pulling out most of my schoolbooks. If all goes well, perhaps I will have a chance to retrieve them later.

When I place my schoolbooks beside the pile of ambrosia baggies, Prim's blue eyes find mine. They slide down to the belongings I shed, and when they look up again a small smile is on her face.

The three of us exit the hideout and return to Half-Blood Creek. Heamon promises us that it should take us no longer than two days to arrive at camp, but I am not reassured. Two days is plenty of times for monsters to attack and ruin whatever tentative plans we might have established. But we walk on. There's no turning back now.

Hardly three minutes have passed when we hear the sounds of a fight. Grunting sounds fill the air, punctuated by the clangs of metal on stone. Prim balks, her hand trembling as she pulls her knife from her belt, but Heamon forges on, reminding us that we can't leave the trail. I look between the satyr and my eleven-year-old sister, hesitating.

After a moment I turn to Prim, tapping my fingers nervously on the wooden bow. "We have to go on," I tell her apologetically. "There's a fight coming. It's inevitable. Let's go to the fight before it can come to us."

Her lip quivers, but she follows me down the stream, her blue eyes wide with fear.

The stream bends to the right, and my eyes widen as I see the scene before me. Heamon is holding a switchblade in one hand, a set of pipes in the other. Just down the stream are two figures, one about my height and one much, much larger than anyone I have ever met in my life.

A Cyclops, somehow even more intimidating than in my dream, wielding the same thorny club. And just across the stream, a thin light-haired boy brandishing a celestial bronze sword. He is younger than I had thought, though, maybe fourteen or fifteen.

The Cyclops lashes out with his club, and the boy ducks, terror washing over his face as the weapon skims his hair.

And then the monster sees us.

His ugly face turns, his single eye sliding from Heamon's face to mine, and then to the small girl at my side. The boy takes advantage of the Cyclops' distraction to launch himself at the monster. He lands on its shoulder and scrambles over to its back. He is about to jam his sword into its flesh when the monster notices him and whirls around, nearly throwing him to the ground.

I notch an arrow and release the string. The bronze projectile cuts through the air, and would have landed squarely in the Cyclops' heart had the monster not turned at the last moment.

The Cyclops convulses, and this time the boy falls from its back, his sword landing in the stream. To my disappointment, not to mention annoyance, the monster recovers. The fear only sets in when his eye focuses in on my and he begins to lumber towards us. I resist the urge to take off into the woods, instead pulling another arrow from my quiver.

Before I can notch it, the Cyclops dives towards us. His meaty arms wrap around Prim and my legs, sending us both down. My head crashes against a rock, and pain shoots through me. Black spots dot my vision, and I groan. Beside me, Prim shrieks. I see a hazy fist rise and plummet towards us. I turn towards my sister, knowing that there is nothing we can do. My hands stretch towards her, but the strength is seeping out of me.

And then the fist explodes in a whirlwind of dust.

Prim's hand brushes my cheek. Two figures loom over us. When they kneel I am able to make out their faces. One is Heamon. The other is the boy we nearly got killed helping.

Heamon unclasps the canteen of nectar and trickles some of the sweet liquid into my mouth. As he moves over to help Prim, I struggle to sit up.

"Who are you?" I ask the boy, my voice feeling thick.

"I could ask you the same question." He wipes the sweat from his forehead, leaning on his sword. "Those Cyclopes have been tracking me for days. I'll kill one, and a few hours later another one will ambush me. I've hardly slept at all for days."

Prim sits up beside me, rubbing her temple. "Hi," she says. "I'm Prim. That's Katniss. And this is Heamon. We're from District Twelve. Well, Katniss and I are, anyways. What's your name?"

Prim has always been the conversation beginner. I smile at her, putting my arm around her shoulders.

The boy hesitates a second before answering. "Adevin." After another pause, he continues, "I'm from District Three. Been out here for a week, maybe two."

"Following the Southern Trail?" Heamon asks, coming up beside us. When Adevin only stares at him blankly, the satyr frowns. "You didn't have an escort? You just decided to leave?" The boy nods, and Heamon frowns. "How did you know where to go? You just wandered around and ended up here?"

Adevin shrugs uncomfortably. "I don't know how to explain it. I just knew that this way was the way to go."

"The Southern Trail." Heamon nods, smiling. "The Creek winds through the northern districts, and the Trail goes through the southern ones. Three is pretty close to both. It isn't as material as the Creek, but half-bloods can find it."

"Half-bloods," Adevin repeats, confusion written across his forehead.

"Yep." Heamon nods to the boy's sword. "Where'd you get that?"

Adevin shifts uncomfortably. "Only found it last night. Before that I had to use a stick. I sharpened it, but it wasn't too effective. I found this in a little nook between two trees. It was really well camouflaged, covered with leaves and vines."

"A half-blood hideout," Prim says, nodding.

"Would someone please tell me what's going on?" Adevin asks, nervous and exasperated.

"Happily." Heamon throws his arm around Adevin's shoulders, but the boy steps away, pushing the older boy off of him. "Okay. No touching. Sorry." The satyr grins. "Come, friend. We have so much to discuss."

**Who do you think Adevin's godly parent is?**


	5. Chapter 5

When I awaken, Prim is still curled at my side, deep asleep. Heamon is sprawled at the base of a tree a few meters away, snoring, his face buried in the crook of his elbow. Adevin, the fourteen-year-old who joined us yesterday, is nowhere to be seen. I call out his name, but softly so as to not wake the others. I receive no response.

I sling my quiver across my shoulder and pick up my bow before creeping away from the group. I am afraid he has left to continue his journey alone. Prim would be devastated. But my gut tells me the boy did not turn down our alliance, only our present company.

I make my way to the stream, which is maybe a quarter of a kilometer south of our camp. I call out Adevin's name again as I weave through the thick underbrush, always keeping a hand on my bow.

When I arrive at the creek, I see him. He sits on a large rock before the water, tilting his sword to catch the sunlight. He hears me approaching and turns.

I realize I'm not quite sure what to say. "You shouldn't wear a green shirt," I blurt out. "It blends in. It's hard to see you."

Adevin shrugs, turning back to the creek flowing before him. "I figure it's better if I blend in. I haven't had to factor in my visibility to companions before now."

There is another awkward silence. "We should get back to Prim and Heamon," I say eventually. "Judging on the sun, I'd say it's nearly seven. Prim'll be awake soon, and I'd rather she not awaken to see the two of us gone."

"Yes, I suppose we'd better return." Adevin stands, and together we head back through the woods to our waiting companions.

When we arrive, Prim is shaking Heamon awake, her eyes wide and fearful. She snaps her head right, then left, breathing heavily.

"They're gone," she is saying tearfully. "They're gone, Heamon, they both left - "

The satyr blearily opens his eyes, glancing about in irritation. He sees us, and shushes Prim. "Calm down, calm down," he says, patting her on the shoulder. "They're back."

Prim whirls around. She exhales in relief when she sees us, but immediately begins to lecture us. "Leaving in the morning, before we even wake up? What if you hadn't returned? Oh, Katniss, what if you'd been ambushed by a monster?"

I apologize thoroughly, hugging her tightly. "It's okay. I'm back now. It's okay."

Adevin watches our reunion, his arms crossed across his chest. "When are we heading out?" he asks after we finally break apart. "It has to be at least seven fifteen. If you really do have a destination in mind, we should try to cover as much ground today as we can."

"You're right." I dig through my backpack for some food. My search only turns up a bruised pear, which I give to Prim. Heamon distributes the rest of his food, looking worried.

"I'm all out," he says. "We'd better find a shelter as soon as possible."

I laugh at his concern. "Calm down. I spotted at least five thickets of berries this morning, and I can get some meat for lunch."

The satyr smiles wryly at me, taking in the bow clutched to my chest. "You're not a bad person to be stranded in the forest with."

Prim looks up into Heamon's face. Patting his knee, she says, "Oh, Heamon, we're not stranded. We're going to a camp, remember?"

Heamon laughs. He hugs Prim, taking a huge bite of his browning banana. To my surprise, I am not at all angry, as I always am when anyone dares to touch Prim in any way. I give the satyr a curious look and wonder how he has managed to earn my trust in only two days.

We pack up the rest of our belongings and head towards the distant whisper of the creek, collecting berries in some of Heamon's tin cans as we go. I tell them which berries are safe and which should be avoided. When we reach the creek we fill our canteens. I am reluctant, for we have no iodine, but Heamon insists that the water of Half-Blood Creek is always pure.

After several minutes of walking in silence, Heamon speaks. "Adevin," he says. "Could you tell us a bit about what has happened to you? So we all understand each other better?"

The fourteen year old looks uncertainly at the satyr. "Why?"

"Just so we understand each other better," Heamon repeats. "We're going to be spending the next few days together, aren't we?"

"Hopefully," I mumble, instantly regretting my words when Prim flinches. She know we have a good chance of biting the dust before we make it to this camp place, and I needn't remind her.

Adevin sighs. "Fine," he says reluctantly. "I was born in District Three fifty-nine years after the Dark Days. My father was a middle class electrician. He had been very poor growing up, but he's always had delusions of grandeur. He's been working his way up all his life. He's determined to be among the district's richest citizens before he dies. They tell me he was different before I was born, back when he was still living in the slums. A bright, intelligent, kind man, determined to forge a good life in District Three. Not a rich life, just a good life.

"And then my mother came. She was a student at the Academy of the Arts, one of Three's specialized schools." Adevin smooths out his green shirt, revealing faded words I had not noticed earlier: _District Three Academy of the Arts_. "She was taking an architecture course. My father had scraped up enough money for a semester there, too. They met, and, well...one thing led to another." Adevin gestures to himself, a pink tinge appearing on his cheeks.

"Let me guess," I say hollowly. "She didn't stay."

The boy from District Three sighs again, but the sound is lost in the wind. I glance over at him. His gray eyes are downcast, and he is flipping his sword just as he was doing when I found him this morning, turning it until it reflects a beam of sunlight into my eyes. I turn away, blinking to get rid of the purplish line that cuts through my vision.

"No, she didn't say," Adevin confirms softly. "She had me and then disappeared. Father insisted that she was a goddess, that she had chosen him because he was above the rest of us. We didn't believe him, of course; the entire district took him for mad. But I always knew I was different. Things went smoothly for a number of years. Until I was nine. My schoolteacher, she had to be the prettiest woman in the district. Half the boys had a crush on her. But she creeped me out. I couldn't figure out why. She creeped me out so badly I began to carry a knife wherever I went. My Father encouraged me, saying I should always be ready for anything.

"On the last day of school...to this day I'm not positive what happened. I left, and Father made me go back in the room to say good-bye. I reluctantly complied. The room was empty, all of the kids gone. I looked around for her, and the next thing I knew I was pinned to a desk by my collar, and some _thing_ was standing over me."

I remember the Stymphalian Birds from two days ago, the History teacher, Mr. Raselmunde, who always rubbed me in the wrong way. My Science teacher two years ago, who had to be the meanest non-Capitolite to ever walk the planet. Who always glared at me like I was an unfortunate pile of dog droppings. Who was the last person to see my classmate Evan Palian on the day he disappeared.

"The resemblance was minor, but I knew immediately she was my teacher," Adevin continues. "She snarled something in my ear, something about me being a demigod. Something about not being able to hide. I was terrified. I was able to get my knife from the waistband of my shorts. She lifted her clawed hand and was about to rip me into shreds, but I stabbed her in the chest." The fourteen-year-old breathes heavily, as if the adrenaline from that day is still coursing through him.

Heamon frowns. "You killed her with an ordinary knife?"

Adevin shakes his head. "No, I didn't kill her. She was shocked, though, and I was able to get out from under her. I yanked my knife free and high tailed it out of there. Always kept a knife on me after that." He laughs mirthlessly.

"Go on," I say. Normally I'm not interested by others' stories, but I find I am intrigued by this boy's tale.

"I told my father, and he wasn't happy," Adevin says, digging his fingernails into the hilt of his celestial bronze sword. "We were living in the town then, and he believed he was destined to be the richest man in the district. My mother had warned him my life would be rocky, and until then nothing had happened. But he didn't want a son who was pursued by monsters. My teacher wasn't dead, and she stalked me for years. We had several squirmishes, and each one got me in trouble. Usually with the school, once with Peacekeepers. When I was twelve my father had to bail me out of the district holding center."

I imagine Peacekeepers dragging a twelve-year-old Adevin into a dirty holding center cell. The boy holding the cold metal bars as his escorts leave him in the dark. Being taken from the cell, dragged back home by a furious father.

Adevin is silent for a moment, no doubt lost in his memories. When he speaks again, his voice is plain, emotionless. "Things got worse over the years. My father stopped paying for my classes at the Academy of the Arts, and I had to take up a job. He didn't bother to try and hide the hate in his eyes when he looked at me. He constantly ranted about how I was holding him back, a divine man favored by the gods. I had almost started to let myself believe that the gods my father spoke of might be real. The monsters spoke of me being a demigod, and Father talked frequently of my mother's stories of a palace in the sky above a building far away, a building not located in a district but in a thriving independent town."

"New Greece," Heamon jumps in. "It's a little city-state just off of Camp Half-Blood. It was built when Panem was created. Population of about seven hundred demigods, maybe a hundred mortals who've found their way or been brought there over the years. Nearby woods are teaming with satyrs and nymphs. It's a lovely place. Olympus is above the government building."

"I look forward to seeing it," Adevin says politely.

Heamon smiles. "Go on."

Adevin's eyes darken. "Yes. Things went downhill from there. With Father at home and monsters everywhere else, I had nowhere to go. On June twenty-sixth about a week and a half ago - today's July seventh, right? - I packed a bag and left. I let my instincts guide me. I wasn't sure where I was going, I just went where my feet led me. I lost my knife in a fight a couple days after I left. After that, I had to make to with a sharpened stick. A couple of days ago, I ran into a nest of Cyclopes. Barely got out of there with my life. Since then, the beasts have been tracking me. I'll kill one, and a few hours later I'll be ambushed by another. The other night I found a...what did you call it? A half-blood hideout? I got my sword there. Anyways, I was fighting a Cyclops yesterday, and you guys came along. I believe you know everything from there."

Heamon stares thoughtfully at the fourteen-year-old. "Your mother was taking an architecture course, you said?"

Adevin nods. "Yes, that was her major. I was taking it, too."

The satyr begins to smile. "District Three. Architecture. Got the hair and the eyes, too."

"What?" Adevin demands, bringing a hand to his dirty blonde hair. "What do you mean?"

"Athena."

"What?"

"Goddess of wisdom." Heamon grins. "Sounds a lot like Athena. I can't say for certain, of course; we'll have to wait for her to claim you."

Adevin only stares at him.

"Who's our father?" Prim inquires, her blue eyes lit up with hope.

"I can't say for sure," Heamon admits. "With Adevin, that was only a guess, and I probably shouldn't have done that. The gods...if you guess incorrectly, sometimes they don't like it. A couple years ago, a satyr was bringing one of Zeus's kids back from the Capitol. Tassel. Kept insisting he was a son of Poseidon. Tase made it to camp. The satyr didn't."

We walk along in silence for another half an hour. I shoot and skin a rabbit, which becomes our lunch. After this morning's storytelling session, Adevin has become more reserved. He has hardly spoken at all since Heamon's guess about his parentage. Prim tries to speak with him, but he avoids even her eyes.

The sun is setting when we come across the tree. It is tall and wide, with one particularly thick branch hanging over the stream. Knotted to the branch are two nooses, swinging side by side in the wind.

My breath catches. "Heamon, what is that?"

The satyr looks up at the tree. "That's the Hanging Tree," he says grimly. "It's where the Southern Trail and the Creek come together."

I look just past the tree, and my eyes widen. Leading away from the tree is a narrow path, marked by nothing, but its presence is clear nonetheless. There are no trail markers on the trees, but I know there is something there.

I bring my attention back to the tree. "The Hanging Tree. What is it?" My eyes lock with Prim's, and I know she too is thinking of the rope necklaces we used to make, sitting cross-legged on the floor of our house, singing the song with Father at our side.

Heamon closes his eyes. "A place of great anguish. The one time the Capitol found the Creek."

"You said it was hidden!" I say.

"And it is, most of the time," Heamon says. "See, the Dark Days wasn't just a war between the districts and the Capitol. It was a battle between the gods, too - Zeus and his followers backing the Capitol, most of the others backing the districts. The gods used the humans and half-bloods as their playing pieces, for if they were to fight each other directly, they'd likely tear the world apart. Poseidon, ah, _drafted_ many of the water nymphs, and those who remained could only hold the Mist for so long. The Capitol got a glimpse."

"What happened?" Prim says breathlessly.

Heamon sighs. "So, it was the Dark Days, right? The districts were pretty bad. So, there was a big fight in District Twelve. Three people were killed, one monster and two humans. Two Peacekeepers and a civilian. Knowing that he'd be executed if he was caught, the killer ran away from the district with his girlfriend. Both were half-bloods, and both were above sixteen, so the death penalty would be carried out if they were caught.

"The Capitol assembled what hovercrafts they could and followed the half-bloods. Normally once they got near Half-Blood Creek, they would disappear from the hovercrafts' monitors, but the Creek wasn't hidden, as it usually was. They were caught and hung right here."

I stare at the two nooses hanging side-by-side, and the words begin playing in my head.

_Are you, are you, _

_Coming to the tree..._

"The Capitol broadcasted their victory to the districts, and the dryads brought the news to camp," Heamon continues, his voice lowering to little more than a whisper. "A few demigods went to retrieve the bodies. They were never claimed."

_Where they strung up a man they say murdered three..._

"Let's get out of here," I say, not wanting to face the ghosts of the two demigods who died here, the ghosts of my own past. Without waiting for a response, I push past Heamon and head down the stream.

**I hope you liked it! Please review!**


	6. Chapter 6

Few words are spoken the morning of July eighth. The four of us pack our belongings and are back on the road - or rather, the river - at about seven. The morning passes is silence, with only the sound of the moving creek, mockingjays singing in the trees, and our footsteps. At about noon, I shoot a few squirrels, and we pause for lunch. We eat what we can and pack the rest for tonight, and begin walking again.

Adevin hears them first. Shortly after lunch, he gestures for us to stop. He tilts his head into the wind, listening for something.

"What is it?" Prim whispers nervously.

Adevin hushes her. "Cyclopes," he murmurs. "A lot of them. At least four, maybe more."

I listen, but hear nothing. "I don't hear them," I admit.

"They've been tracking me for days," my companion says. "I've learned how they sound. They blend in very well with the other animals. They're very good at sneaking up on their prey. Which, now, is us." He turns to Heamon. "I've never fought so many of them before, but there are four of us now. But we should try to avoid a fight if we can." He starts over to the bushes beside the stream. "If we can disguise our scent - "

"No." Heamon shakes his head. "They have excellent smell. Our best chance is running. We're not far from camp. They're close, they're really close now. We need to go."

He spins away from us and sprints down the stream. Adevin falls into line behind him. I grab Prim's hand and pull her along after them.

We have run barely a minute when I hear them behind us. Thumping along behind us, sending rocks skittering into the Creek, growling to each other. Smacking their clubs against rocks. A small boulder flies towards us. It lands right behind Heamon. A second boulder plows into the water just to my right, dousing me in water. Prim screams as a third boulder flies above her, not even a foot above her head. It smashes into the ground in front of her, and she trips over it.

I haul Prim to her feet. Adevin grabs her hand and whispers in my ear, "Use your bow! I've got her."

I notch an arrow and release the string. It disappears into the trees, and a surprised yelp fills the air. I reach back for another arrow, then another, but I know I am only stalling. Blindly shooting at them will only slow them down. Our only chance is if we are as close to Camp Half-Blood as Heamon promised.

I shoot one last arrow and turn to catch up to the others. I sprint along the side of the stream, adrenaline coursing through me. This is it. This is the fight of my life, and perhaps the last.

Ahead of me, Prim trips again, this time over a fallen branch, and she cries out in pain. I nearly tumble heads-over-heels, but pull myself short just in time. There is no time to see if she is okay. Adevin glances once at the Cyclopes not far behind us, then hoists Prim over his shoulders.

We start off again, risking occasional glances behind us. Visibility is impeded by the thick foliage, but we can hear them easily, and the boulders and branches that fall around us are constant reminders of their presence.

I don't know how long after it is that the most trying rock sails through the air. It crashes into the dirt right in front of me. My foot catches on it and I go down. I throw my hands out in front of me to break my fall, and pain sears my palms. The rock tears through my trousers and bites into the flesh on my thigh. I bite my lip to keep from crying out and do my best to ignore the pain. I scramble to my feet and sprint after the others.

The Cyclopes are closing in on us. They uproot trees and hurl them in our direction, bashing through the forest. Gaining on us. I turn around, and now I can see them. There are six of them, each more ugly than the last. Each is huge, eight or nine feet tall, with one large eye centered on their foreheads and large, formidable, gnarly clubs in their hands.

Prim's blue, terrified eyes are fixed on them as she bounces up and down atop Adevin's back. Her eyes shift down to my bloody knees and she sobs out my name. She grips her knife with all of her strength, her arms trembling.

"Almost there!" Heamon yells from ahead of us.

We come up to one last ridge. The Creek cuts through a narrow pass, too narrow for us to follow. Heamon scrambles up it, but Adevin shakes his head.

"I can't carry her anymore," he warns. "If I try - "

I pull Prim from his back and yank her up the hill, knowing that I must be hurting her arm but that if I do not she will die. We will all die. Breathing heavily, Adevin stumbles up the ridge, pulling his bronze sword from where it dangles at his side. At the top he trips on a thick root emerging from the ground. He turns, but there is no time to get to his feet. The Cyclopes are nearly at the bottom of the ridge.

I have a choice. I can release Prim and reach for an arrow, and let her slide down, most likely to her death. Or I can let them catch up to us. Adevin would not even have a chance to stand before a club crushed his skull into a pancake.

If I shoot, Prim dies. If I do not, we all die.

I cannot kill Prim.

I step to the top of the ridge, knowing that there is nothing I can do. We are dead. The nearest Cyclops starts up the ridge, the others falling into line behind it.

And then it happens. Prim shifts, and then a glint of silver streaks through the air. The Cyclops in front slumps down, Prim's knife embedded in his forehead. He falls onto the beast behind him before disintegrating into a pile of dust. The Cyclops yelps in surprise as his former companion's weight pushes him down the hill.

I don't wait to see what happens next. I help Adevin to his feet and hurry him and my now unarmed sister down the side of the hill.

We leave the shelter of the trees and take off after Heamon down the steep hillside. The rocks are slick, and several times I nearly slip and plummet down the hill. At the bottom of the valley I see a collection of small buildings, and small figures weaving between them. The Creek runs back into the trees at the bottom of the hill, and flows into the sea down the valley.

In the sky I see what looks like a brown horse, but with huge wings emerging from its torso. I force my eyes back to the steep path.

I can hear the Cyclopes behind us, finally clearing the ridge and charging down after us. They gain on us quickly.

"Cross the Creek!" Adevin yells. He follows his own advice, as does Heamon ahead of us, and I leap over myself. I make it. Prim does not.

My sister lands on a slick rock and her feet go out from under her. Her scream pierces the air as she tumbles head over heels down the hillside. I scream her name, and she cries mine back in response.

Heamon sees her plummeting towards him and grabs her arm. She skitters to a stop, moaning in pain. He glances back at our pursuers and pulls her onto his back, just as Adevin had done.

I turn to the fourteen-year-old. "Great idea!" I shout over the wind. "She must've broken her leg!"

"Listen!" Adevin shouts back.

Behind us, the Cyclopes leap across the river. The first one lands heavily on our side, and his momentum carries him forward. He yelps in surprise as he lands face first in the mud beside the Creek. The next monster trips over him, and the third joins the pile.

The last two avoid them and make it safely to our side. Adevin curses and urges us faster.

And then Heamon stops. He lowers Prim to the ground, breathing heavily, and kneels beside her.

"Get up!" I yell. "What do you think you're doing?"

The satyr smiles up on me, relieved but tired. "We're here, Katniss. We're safe." He gestures behind me.

I turn. The two remaining Cyclopes are still charging down towards us, getting closer by the second.

"_Safe_?" I repeat. "They're coming, Heamon, _they're coming_ - "

And then they hit it. A ripple goes through the air, and the Cyclopes sit down hard. They stand again and pound their fists onto the invisible force field, but cannot penetrate it.

"See?" Heamon smiles blissfully. "We're here. We're home."

Adevin kneels beside Prim. "She's conscious," he announces. "Looks awful, though. She needs help." He looks up at me. "You know any first aid?"

I shake my head. "She's the healer, not me."

"Let's get her to the infirmary," Heamon says. "I'll carry her."

"_I'll_ carry her," I correct him. "She's my sister." I slip my arms under her still body and lift her into the air. I follow Heamon down the hill, still panting.

At the bottom of the valley, the people circle around us. They are mostly children and teenagers, the youngest about eight or nine and the oldest in their late teens. They wear orange shirts with the words 'Camp Half-Blood' on them. Heamon leads us through the crowd and over to a long wooden building. He opens the door and leads us in.

The infirmary is filled with beds bearing campers with wounds ranging from blistered, burned arms to deep sword cuts. Two campers walk up to us, a girl about my age and a slightly younger boy, maybe twelve years old. Both have light brown hair and gray eyes.

"Heamon!" The girl grins widely at the satyr. "So, it was a success, then?" She looks at us, and down at Prim. "Put her over here." She gestures to a bed near the door. I comply, and the healers go to Prim's side.

"That's Delos," Heamon says. "He's Hendrick. Their dad's Apollo. Their cabin pretty much runs the infirmary."

I go up to the bed. "How is she?"

Delos looks up at me. "It looks like she has a mild concussion, and she's scratched up pretty bad. You all are, actually. Anai, can you get these guys some antiseptics?" she calls.

A boy about my age comes up from the back of the infirmary. He has the complexion and the black hair of someone from the Seam, and I like him immediately. He rummages through a drawer and pulls out a bottle of something. He light swabs the cuts on my knees and palms, and I wince. When my wounds are cleaned, he goes over to Adevin.

When Anai returns to the back of the infirmary, Heamon comes up to us. "Chiron will want to see you two," he says. "I'll take you to the Big House."

"Chiron?" Adevin asks.

"Yeah. He's the guy who runs everything here. Been doing it for a couple millennia now."

I stare at him. "A couple _millennia_?"

Heamon just grins. Adevin and I follow him down the path to the largest building in the valley. On the porch stands a...thing.

"What is _that_?" I ask, staring at the creature on the porch. He has the upper body of a human, with bright eyes and a dark beard, but below his waist he is an equine creature.

"That's Chiron," Heamon answers happily, leading us onto the porch. "He's a centaur. Half horse, half human. Some of them are wild creatures, but Chiron's the best trainer you could ask for."

The man-horse thing smiles kindly down on us. "A success, I see. Excellent job, Heamon. Excellent job. What are your names?"

"She's Katniss, and he's Adevin," Heamon says. "They're both undetermined, though I have...suspicions. We brought Katniss's sister, too. She's in the infirmary."

"Ah. What happened?"

Heamon lowers his head. "We were going over Half-Blood Hill, and she sort of rolled all the way down."

Chiron winces. "Our healers are very good. She should be fine." He looks over at us. "You're from District Twelve?"

"She is," Heamon says. "Adevin's from Three. Met us on the way." He goes on to tell the centaur our story, everything from finding us fighting the Stymphalian Birds just outside of District Twelve to hurtling down Half-Blood Hill.

When the satyr finishes, Chiron studies us. "Katniss, you and Primrose will be staying in the Hermes cabin until you are claimed. Heamon...risky as it is, I trust your suspicions. Please taken Adevin to the Athena cabin and see what they have to say."

**Please review!**


	7. Chapter 7

After we meet Chiron the centaur, Heamon leads us back to the cabins. He walks over to a low gray building with an owl above the door. The door is propped open to let the cool air in. Inside are three campers, two boys and a girl.

The girl sees us first. "Newcomers," she announces to her siblings, coming over to join us. She looks to be a bit older than me, maybe sixteen or seventeen. She gazes at us with her dark gray eyes. "I'm Shay," she says eventually. "Counselor of the Athena Cabin. From District Three. Can we help you with anything?"

The boys have joined her at the door. They both look about my age, fifteen. Both share the honey blond hair and gray eyes of Shay. And of Adevin. My eyes linger on the taller boy, who stands just to Shay's right. He looks familiar, very familiar, but I cannot imagine where I might have seen him before.

"Hi," Heamon says. "I just got back, as you can see. We have someone who we think may be one of your siblings. We're not positive, and you guys are known for having that kind of sixth sense, so, um..." He glances over at Adevin. "Here he is."

The Athena campers look over at my companion. Heamon begins to talk again, telling them about Adevin's urging us to cross the river, his many other decisions that may very well have saved our lives.

"He is," the shorter boy at Shay's left says. He steps forward, extending his hand. "I'm Thilo. Sorry you don't get the big claiming sign that the other cabins get. Athena tends to expect her children to identify their siblings themselves."

"How can you tell?" I ask, my eyes flicking to the familiar-looking boy and then back to Thilo. "You see him, and you just know he's your brother?"

Thilo shrugs. "I can't explain it. As Heamon said, it's pretty much just a sixth sense. We've never been wrong before."

"I guess that's it, then," Heamon says. "See you at dinner, Adevin. I need to show Katniss to her cabin." He steps away from the door, and I turn to follow him, but turn back.

"What's your name?" I blurt out to the tall boy.

He fixes me in his stare, his lips quirking up. "Evan. Evan Palian."

My eyes widen in surprise as the memories come flooding back. The blonde boy, the tallest in the class, raising his hand to answer a question no one else could figure out. Evan, standing in the section across from mine in the reaping, holding his breath and exhaling along with everyone else. Evan, sitting next to Madge and me at lunch, one of the only two friends I ever had. Evan, staying after school with the science teacher two years ago, and never being seen again.

"Evan," I whisper. "It's you." A part of me does not want to believe it. There is no way that our district's missing child is a son of Athena. There's no way he successfully made it down all those miles of river and monsters. He was the smartest in the class, but he was thirteen, and he was alone. But I stare into his familiar gray eyes, and I know it is truly him.

Evan smiles. "It's been a while, hasn't it."

Shay stares at us. "You two know each other?"

Evan nods. "We were friends back in District Twelve."

"What happened to you?" I ask.

"It's a long story." He leans against the door frame. "I'm sure you remember part of it. Teachers never asked me to stay behind - I'm sure people were talking about it. Anyways, she said she had something urgent to speak to me about. I stayed, and she transformed into what I now know was an empousa. Most males cannot resist the charm of empousai, but my mind remained clear. Because of my mother, I imagine. I ran, ran into the woods. She chased me, and I eventually managed to kill her. I found Half-Blood Creek and decided to follow it. Because it had to lead somewhere, right? It took me a while, but I got here." He gestures to the valley.

"Not bad." The journey from Twelve to camp is long and arduous, but Evan was one of the most resourceful people I knew. If anyone could have made it alone, it was him.

"Come, Katniss, it's almost dinner," Heamon says. "I need to show you your cabin."

"My cabin," I repeat. I mutter a farewell to Adevin's siblings and follow the satyr away from the Athena cabin. "So. Hermes, you said?" Heamon nods, and I frown. "I thought you said you didn't know who my father was."

"We don't," Heamon says. "Hermes is the god of travelers and hospitality, along with about a hundred other things. All the unclaimed campers stay in his cabin."

"Unclaimed?" I say. "How long until we're claimed?"

Heamon shrugs. "Some people are claimed before they get to camp. For some, it takes minutes. Others...others are never claimed at all."

I frown at that. "But...they're gods. They don't realize that they have a kid who got to camp?"

The satyr sighs. "The gods are busy, Katniss. Sometimes they forget about their children. They do have several millennia worth of thoughts in their heads, after all."

"That's no excuse," I insist. "If they're going to have kids, they should pay attention to them."

Heamon just heaves a sigh and stares at the ground.

A cluster of girls walks past us. They are about Prim's height, and their faces are youthful, but something in their eyes, or perhaps in their demeanor, tells me they are not quite human. I stare after them, bewildered.

"Nymphs," Heamon says, smiling slightly. "Dryads. Spirits of the forests. Lovely, aren't they?"

I nod, my eyes widening in astonishment when a girl breaks from the pack and melts into a tree by the path. Dryads - the messengers of the forest, Heamon had said. The main middlemen between Camp and New Greece, the districts and the woods. The guardians of the Southern Path.

"They almost died out a couple hundred years ago," Heamon says. "The wars, you know? There was more deforestation than you can possibly imagine. And then there was the poison from the biological warfare and the environment's retaliation, and the bombs demolished so many of the few patches of wildlife humanity hadn't already destroyed. It was a bloodbath. There are a few patches of them living past Panem's borders, we think, but their numbers are greatly concentrated here."

I laugh. "There's nothing past Panem's borders, Heamon, everyone knows that. It was all destroyed in World War Three. We were the only survivors."

Heamon shakes his head. "Don't believe everything you're told, Katniss. The Capitol knows that if people knew there were other survivors out there, many of them would rather run into the unknown than stay in Panem. Not that they would have an easy time getting anywhere - there's a loose state way up north and we think there are a few settlements on the South American Island, but as far as we know, there's nothing any closer."

I want to ask more, to hear more about the world the Capitol hid from us, but just then we arrive at a cabin slightly larger than those that surround it, with a large brass '_11_' above the doorway.

"Here we are," Heamon announces, pushing open the door to reveal maybe a dozen boys and girls from maybe eight years old to about my age. They look up when we enter, and I find myself self-conscious.

It is a little girl who can't be older than eight or nine who finally breaks the silence. "Heamon!" she shrieks, running up to him and throwing her arms around his middle. "You're back you're back you're back!"

"Hey, Quire," Heamon says fondly. "Been good while I was away?" She nods excitedly. "Is Fidelia around? We have a newcomer. Two, actually."

"She _is_ around, as it happens," one of the older girls says, stepping forward from her bunk and reaching for my hand. "Fidelia Melgen, Cabin Eleven counselor."

"Katniss."

Fidelia turns to Heamon. "You said there was a second?"

"Yeah. Primrose. She's in the infirmary. Got a bit scratched up coming down here."

"I could hear. Are they regular or undetermined?"

I look between them, rather annoyed that they were talking about me right in front of my face, as if I wasn't there at all. Heamon catches my eye and smiles apologetically. "Undetermined," he says.

"Fifteen years and no word," I say, irritated. "You'd think he didn't care at all. Surely there's some sort of age limit? Hasn't someone bothered to say, 'Hey, claim your kids before they go to the mines, or else'?"

Fidelia sighs. "They tried, a few years before the big war. All half-bloods are supposed to be claimed before the age of thirteen. And they were, for a few years. But then the wars started, and Panem was created, and...well, most half-bloods don't even make it to camp. It's unrealistic, to hold the gods to such a promise in a place like this."

I don't bother to hide the disgust in my face. "It's not unrealistic at all. They're gods, aren't they? They're supposed to be powerful, right?"

Thunder booms overhead. My hand goes to my bow, and I look nervously at Heamon.

"You shouldn't have said that," the satyr says. "The gods don't take kindly to insults." I want to say that if the gods have the time to listen for and react to insults they should have more than enough time to check if one of their kids might have crossed the border into camp, but Heamon cuts me off. "Apologize. Now."

I glance reluctantly to the sky. _Why should I_? I want to ask. _I said nothing wrong_. But thunder booms again, storm clouds appearing overhead as if from nowhere. "Sorry," I say.

For a moment, nothing happens. And then the sky clears, and I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

Fidelia ushers me into the cabin and sections off a small section of floor for me. "This is for you," she says graciously. "There are twenty of us now, including you and Primrose. Only seven us are claimed: myself, Angie - she's the second in command, Teo, Harlem, Maia, Quire...ah yes, and Sable."

"Thanks," a boy a few years younger than me grumbles from the back of the cabin.

Fidelia ignores him. "Perhaps you should get yourself cleaned up, Katniss. Dinner is in half an hour, and frankly, I don't think I could bear sitting near you smelling like this."

"The Ares kids drown out any other smell," another boy insists. "They're only a couple cabins down, and I can smell 'em right now."

"A bit of sweat could make you faint, Valet," a third kid sneers. "You go into battle against him sweaty, you don't even need a sword; you've already won."

"Shut up, Damien..."

I back away from the bickering campers and their infuriating counselor, returning to Heamon, who still stands by the door. "You're just going to leave me here with these people?" I mutter to him.

"What do you want me to do?" Heamon asks. "You could be out of here any second. There's just no telling when." He smiles at me. "It'll be fine, Katniss. You'll love it here, just you wait."

**Not my finest writing, but it will have to do. **


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